


static electricity

by gayruto



Category: Naruto
Genre: M/M, decided to continue this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-23
Updated: 2015-11-14
Packaged: 2018-03-31 19:51:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 13,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3990613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gayruto/pseuds/gayruto
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He tries not to count the amount of times he saw Sasuke smile that day while he scrubs himself raw. *Edited summary 8/15/15</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prickle

**Author's Note:**

> been in recovery since kishimoto decided to royally fuck everything up. heres a short vague worthless thing that i literally just wrote sorry for being bad at consistency. you can supply your own timeline/universe, if you'd like. so hard to get back into the swing of writing

There’s an added layer of consciousness when he’s around Sasuke that sure as hell wasn’t there before. He can tell because he wants to retract the arm he’d put around Sasuke’s neck immediately after the fact, but he can’t. He counts to ten as he continues babbling on about who-knows-what, hoping with a cringing desperation that everything seems normal.

When he’s finally taken his arm back, the sudden prickling sweat in the creases of his skin makes him want a shower badly. Sakura sucks her teeth at something he says—he doesn’t know what he said, he’s still trying to shake off the tingle—but then she smiles, giving him a goodbye kiss on the cheek and patting Sasuke on the arm before walking away. 

He’s still staring at the place Sakura left when he realizes Sasuke’s talking.

“…errands. And you?”

“Eh? Ah, uh,” he stumbles, trying to piece together the words he hadn’t been paying attention to. “I’m gonna go home,” he decides.

There’s a pause that Naruto doesn’t want to read into. “Alright.” Sasuke’s grabbing his stuff and standing up, and Naruto wants to stop him but he also really doesn’t. He sits there alone for a long while, probably.

He goes home at some point—at least, he figures as much, because now he’s in his bedroom. He’s wondering about the lapse between his arm around Sasuke and the hardwood floor under his feet.

The sudden spike in distress has him reeling. Everything was okay an hour ago, a day ago, a week ago. There’s a tick of frustration in his jaw as he clenches his teeth. It’s always like this. 

It’s always like this with Sasuke.

He pulls off his shirt and slides out of his pants and underwear, leaving both on the floor in a haphazard trail to the bathroom, feeling too dirty and itchy and ugly to care. It’s been a while since he felt gross in his own skin. He tries not to count the amount of times he saw Sasuke smile that day while he scrubs himself raw. Yesterday he forgot to shower at all, but today there’s not enough soap and the water alternates fire and ice.

When he’s out and dried off, he can’t sit still. The apartment is too quiet but he thinks watching TV would be more annoying than comforting, so he decides to occupy himself with tidying up. Normally, there’s an endless and neglected amount of that to do.

Today, there’s next to none. Sasuke forced him to put things in order last week and he hasn’t gotten around to undoing it all just yet. He wants to laugh at the memory of a nagging Sasuke, but there’s something stuck in his throat. The way it aches makes Naruto wish he was as carefree as he likes people to think.

And when he finds the sweater Sasuke left behind, he can’t help but immediately swipe it up. 

He can’t help but hold it close to him. Can’t help but struggle not to inhale deeply, can’t help but feel like a creep when he does it anyway, wondering about the lengths of embarrassment he’ll allow himself to reach when he’s alone and why the scent of the Sasuke's detergent warms his body up like the rising temperature outside couldn't.

After he shuts off all the lights and slips into bed, black sweater against his chest, he dreams that he’s sinking into scorching gravel.


	2. Burn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thing gets worse before they get better, but no one told him that.

Naruto has been staring at the carrots in the vegetable isle for far too long. Going outside after the previous night’s episode might not have been the best idea. He vaguely notes that he must be getting stares, because carrots aren’t necessarily that interesting for him to be regarding them so pensively, wistfully sighing every now and then.

He wants to punch himself in the face.

With a resolute grip, he pushes his small shopping cart down the aisle in search of something he might _actually_ tolerate enough to eat. He throws a few cups of instant noodles in there, along with a bag of tomatoes.

He hates tomatoes. Something is very wrong here and he controls his breathing with strained effort, because otherwise he’d have rammed his head and his groceries through a wall. He still buys the tomatoes, though.

When he finally leaves the store, he finds that his free hand itches. He wants to grab his phone from his pocket, but he’s prohibited himself from looking at it ever since this morning.

The unread text—which he _did_ read, he just couldn’t bring himself to actually click on the notification or swipe it out of sight—is blurry in his memory.

(No it’s not, that’s a lie, it had asked “What are you doing today?” and it was from Sasuke, and he’d read it a total of ten times before he accidentally dropped the phone, hands hot and cold and moist like even his body doesn’t know what to make of the whole situation.)

Every time he wonders about why Sasuke sent it, the same cycle repeats himself. Maybe Sasuke wanted to hang out. But why? He rarely, if ever, extended the invitation first, unless it was something serious. And what if it was serious, and by withholding a reply for at least three hours Naruto had done something incredibly horrible? At this point, he wants to reach into his pocket and call Sasuke straight away.

Then he thinks about Sasuke’s voice in his ear, and how last night he dreamt of it right up against his neck and how he can still feel the breath that was never there on his skin, his knees _shake_ at the thought and he promptly slaps himself. Hard, on the face, even in the midst of a crowd of people.

So, he still doesn’t touch his phone. But he makes plans to go to the gym right after dropping the groceries off at his apartment, in hopes of easing his body by force.

His house is humid when he gets inside. He dumps the bag on the small round table in his kitchen and opens the freezer door to stick his head inside.

He’s suddenly all too aware of his breath, and finding a steady rhythm becomes hard. Harder. Impossible.

And then it chokes him around the neck, and he’s hyperventilating. Right next to the last orange popsicle left in the freezer, he’s choking and wheezing and covering his face and thinking of how rough Sasuke’s fingertips were against his back last night.

Except they weren’t, that didn’t happen, that wasn’t _going_ to happen and he feels dirty dirty _dirty_ for being upset by the fact.His hands are balled into shaking fists but he takes a few long, stuttering breaths before he damages something he won’t have the money to replace.

Even when he manages to slow his erratic pulse, his throat aches in a way that makes his eyes burn. He might have been screaming that whole time. He hopes to god he wasn’t just screaming that whole time.

He decides that he’s only making things worse on himself. Nothing has changed. Not for anyone else, at least. Naruto might be on the verge of a breakdown every five seconds, but that’s only because of his overactive imagination. Replying to a text won’t start the apocalypse.

He replies honestly, in one word. Gym. But it takes more willpower than it should not to leave his phone at home.

When he finally does goes to the gym, he doesn’t know how long he spends punching the sandbag. His phone is on silent and he doesn’t chance a look even at the blinking notification light. He makes sure he’s worn out enough not to hurt himself out of more pent-up frustration later.

He doesn’t want this constant, violent anxiety to continue being his reality. Not when it came to Sasuke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gonna see how far I can take this.


	3. Burst

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reflection.

When Sasuke had told him he considered him his best friend, Naruto had been happy. At twelve years old, that might have been the best news he’d ever gotten. He hadn’t had the luxury of an easy childhood, or any childhood at all, but Sasuke made him feel like a normal kid. He made him feel like he was important, even.

But when Sasuke told him two weeks ago that he was being clingy and shrugged off his touch, Naruto had been taken aback.

Just a bit.

His first reaction was to plainly deny it in a fit of defensive outrage, because they were _best friends_ and why the fuck was Sasuke talking about him like he was some girl he was tired of dating?

He’d left it as one of their usual disagreements—but at home, it hit him right in the gut.

He remembered the way Sakura in junior high hung off of Sasuke’s arm at every chance she got, desperate for any kind of response, and felt a pain lodge itself in his chest.

In the back of his mind, he felt guilty for implying even to himself that “some girl” would be less deserving of Sasuke’s respect. He suddenly empathized with a 12-year-old Sakura, and that was the first domino to fall.

He’d tasted bile in the back of his throat at this subconscious comparison.

But this was nothing like that. This wasn’t junior high drama. It was nothing. Just a comment. Sasuke being Sasuke. Everyone knew he acted like a cat in water when his personal space was invaded, and maybe Naruto had touched shoulders with him a couple more times than usual. No big deal.

Except as soon as Naruto tried to correct his own behavior, he became all too conscious of any small touch. Any _lack_ of touch. He began to count down the seconds he kept his hand on Sasuke’s shoulder, only putting it there in the first place so things didn’t seem too out of place. Sakura had pulled him aside one day to ask if something was going on between them, and he didn’t want a repeat of that. The honest answer he’d given her was no, but only because “something” wasn’t going on between _them_. No, Naruto was the only one being affected.

As each day passed, the tension crawled up higher on his body. His mind was wiped blank of any intelligent thought when Sasuke was around, and when he was with anyone else he couldn’t effectively conjure up words the way he used to.

His hands felt empty. The tactile feedback of his own skin didn’t feel right.

Sasuke’s skin had always been cool against his warm fingers—and Naruto’s palms were too hot now.

When his mind offered this observation, panic set in. He refused to think about it any further, refused to give whatever unnamed feeling this was credence. It was all in his mind.

The words on his phone’s screen— _come to my house_ —weren’t, though _._

Neither was the way his body reacted so without its owner’s permission that he was already en route before he could realize.


	4. Mess

He hadn’t thought about what to do once he actually got there. He hadn’t thought about anything but the thought of Sasuke wanting to see him, because Sasuke has had an unshakable power over him ever since they were little and to this day he can’t resist it.

But maybe he should have, just a little. Because now he’s in front of Sasuke’s door and has knocked as loudly as possible on reflex. He finds it hard to breathe.

He’s afraid of what Sasuke might be wanting to say to him.

Once the door opens (Sasuke just got out of the shower, Naruto can smell the soap and see how his hair still drips lightly), Sasuke just regards him silently for a moment. “My TV isn’t working,” he says finally.

Naruto nods without a word, stepping inside once Sasuke makes space for him to. It won’t occur to him until later that Sasuke has always been more proficient with electronics than he ever was, and that he must have known Naruto wouldn’t be able to do anything. His pulse is pounding away too hard for him to really notice anything other than the sound inside his ears.

And Sasuke’s close proximity. The soap, shampoo, conditioner, aftershave, detergent from his clean clothes. He’s dizzy. Sasuke is less than a foot away, and Naruto thinks he might punch a hole in the wall.

“What’s wrong with it?” What’s wrong with _him_. Naruto can only stare at his reflection in the big screen TV, deaf to whatever he’s being told.

Sasuke leaves the room and Naruto angles the TV so he can get to the back. He doesn’t know what he’s looking at or for, but he touches a few wires and pretends to diagnose the root of whatever the hell Sasuke had said.

Sasuke comes back, he can hear the footsteps, but he doesn’t dare turn around. He just delves farther behind the TV, staring at wire after wire, until he jumps and almost sends the whole thing crashing down when he feels something cold and wet on the nape of his neck.

His head whips to see what it was, eying the cold glass of lemonade dubiously. He takes it.

Sasuke isn’t meeting his eyes, he’s typing something on his cellphone when he tells Naruto to take a break, then leaves the room again.

So Naruto does just that. He downs the lemonade as if doing so might ease away the apprehension in his every move. Every time he so much as twitches, he feels the need to see if Sasuke saw him do it. There’s no way his behavior looks normal at this point. And Sasuke could always read his mind.

He stares out the window with the glass in his hand, fingers tapping on the wall anxiously. With a deep breath, he decides to go to the kitchen to wash the glass.

He finds Sasuke sitting at the table, doing nothing but staring at his hands. He twitches almost unnoticeably when Naruto enters the room, but only almost. Naruto tries to focus on his objective, the sink, but he still notes the way Sasuke glances at him and touches his own face. The gesture reminds him of Hinata, and that kind of reservation has no place in Sasuke.

But that’s not reservation or nervousness, anyway. It can’t be.

“Just leave it there. I’ll get to it later.”

Naruto pauses. There’s multiple dirty dishes in the sink. He wonders if Sasuke had guests at some point, because there’s no way he’d let them pile up even slightly otherwise.

On second thought, even then he wouldn’t let them pile up. But Sasuke never had guests over anyway.

He decides to ignore what the other said and runs the water. He grabs the soap and sponge and gets to work. The mechanical, repetitive movements calm him some. He’s washing every dish in the sink as if by doing so he’d cleanse himself.

At some point, Sasuke’s chair scrapes the floor as he gets up. Naruto resists turning to see him leave, but feels slightly disappointed by the sudden vacancy.

When he’s done, he realizes that being alone in an empty house with Sasuke might turn out to be the worst situation he’s ever put himself in. He could fake it if Sakura or anyone else was around—he could redirect his nervous energy and rename it enthusiasm. But now, all he has is his sweaty palms and lack of words.

But it’s not really a lack, because as he nears the living room again and sees Sasuke staring at one of the pretentious paintings on the wall, he’s bombarded by just what he wants to say to Sasuke.

Just what he wants to _do_ to Sasuke.

But he averts his eyes instead and looks at the TV again. “I don’t know how to…y’know.”

Sasuke’s tapping his foot on the floor as Naruto speaks. He allows the sound to fill the room before he says, “I know.”

When he turns around finally, the look on his face makes Naruto’s stomach drop.


	5. Bitter

If he reflected on it well enough, Naruto would notice that Sasuke wasn’t as cunning as he led everyone to believe. Or, more specifically, as those people led _themselves_ to believe. Because sometimes, Sasuke acts impulsively. And the idea brings a smattering of comfort to Naruto’s ego.

But all it is now is a ticking time bomb. Sasuke’s glaring straight through him, frowning like he’s been disappointed, or maybe that’s just in Naruto’s mind.

All he knows at this point is that Sasuke’s TV is probably fine, and that he’s not imagining how nauseous he is. There’s only a small pause before he asks, breathless, “What?” because despite the palpable anxiety, he doesn’t want to wait quietly for whatever might come.

If Sasuke knows the images Naruto has had of him whenever he has a moment alone to think—the indecency and vulgarity of just how _much_ Naruto wishes he could let his hands linger longer on Sasuke’s skin every time they make contact—then he’d careen off a cliff.

But there’s no way he can know. There’s no way.

There’snowaythere’snowaythere’s—

“What the hell’s the matter with you?”

He feels the sweat quickly form on his brow, and he can’t answer. All he can do is suppress hyperventilation. His eyes cry guilt, and he’s convinced that he’s a criminal.

Sasuke makes only shaky eye contact before looking away. “I shouldn’t have to feel guilty for something that isn’t my fault.”

It takes a moment before the confusion sets in. Sasuke’s head whips up as if he’s lost his patience with Naruto’s silence, but the latter speaks before he can be reproached.

“What?”

He wishes he could have said something more eloquent, but at least his confusion is held out openly and honestly with just that one word.

This time, Sasuke looks exasperated. Offended, even. This confuses Naruto further. “And now you want to make me say it?” he asks, as if Naruto had just asked him to debase himself. But that’s exactly what he needs Sasuke to do—say it.

He nods slowly, as if unsure of himself. He raises a brow and blinks a drop of sweat out of his eye.

Sasuke only looks more offended by this response, but he doesn’t reply immediately. He looks at Naruto with sharp eyes. Naruto knows he’s being observed, like a lab rat—but he doesn’t know why. He doesn’t know what’s happening and it’s _terrifying_ , but he’s almost too disoriented to notice the fear.

Sasuke is gritting his teeth and narrowing his eyes as he says, “Tell me why you’ve been an avoidant piece of shit,” as if he’s being forced into something unpleasant.

 _What_? He opens and closes his mouth, and nothing comes out but fuel for Sasuke’s annoyance.

Naruto isn’t prepared for the way Sasuke steps over the coffee table separating them and grabs him by the collar, bringing Naruto face to face with the frustration echoing in his screaming voice.

“Why have you been _AVOIDING_ me?”

This isn’t right. It isn’t _true_. Naruto has to bite his tongue before he asks “what” again like a dumbass; he feels like an actor that’s forgotten his lines and doesn’t even know what show he’s on.

“I…haven’t been avoiding you,” he says with a touch of anger coating his words. Maybe he deserves Sasuke’s tone of voice. Maybe he does because he’s always awaiting punishment for all the things he feels guilty of, but he still doesn’t want it.

The pain in his forehead doesn’t register until Sasuke releases his grip on him and backs away. Only then does he realize he’s just been head-butted.

The pain, the heat in the room, the way Sasuke’s hands shake with vexation like he’s entitled to something—

He blacks out. The corners of his vision fade; he only knows he hasn’t fainted because he’s busy throwing his best friend against the wall hard enough to dent it, busy getting kicked in the stomach and punching him in the face.

Too many things hurt.

Their fists make dull, thudding impacts with skin repeatedly. Bodies make crushing contact with furniture, sending everything flying into disarray.

When Naruto’s eyes focus again, he sees the ceiling. He hears his uneven breathing and feels Sasuke’s fingers brushing his cheek. When he looks over, he sees blood coming out of the other’s nose and the way his chest rises up and down desperately, arms spread out as if there weren’t strength remaining in them.

He sucks down as much air as he can as he steels his resolve.

“I’m not avoiding you.”

“Yes you are.”

His head snaps to look at Sasuke, indignant. He’s telling the truth. In fact, he’s tried his hardest _not_ to avoid Sasuke. “I—“

“I don’t _care_ if you’re clingy.”

He almost actually bites his tongue off at this.

“You shouldn’t have even cared that I said that. What are you, a baby?”

“I’M—“

“Besides,” he cuts Naruto off yet again, this time pausing to take a deep breath. “I didn’t tell you to…-ange…or anything,” he mumbles just low enough so that Naruto can’t hear his exact words.

“Huh?”

Sasuke grits his teeth, blowing out air. “I didn’t tell you to CHANGE, dumbass.”

Okay. This isn’t what he’d expected out of a fistfight.

“You’ve always been annoying. I never _expect_ you to stop, and it’s not like I’ve ever tried to get a restraining order. So get out of your head, idiot. Thinking doesn’t suit you, let alone overthinking.”

Sasuke’s head is turned away now, and Naruto wants to see what face he’s making, wants to know that this is _real_ but all he sees is the way his ears are reddening and maybe that’s enough.

But no, it’s not enough, and he doesn’t plan to jump on top of Sasuke in an uncomfortable, awkward hug, but he squeezes tight even when Sasuke complains about not being able to breathe.

He’s smiling into Sasuke’s collarbone so hard his face feels like it might tear, but there’s also an overwhelming urge to cry that has nothing to do with relief or happiness and everything to do with dread.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh man, definitely didn't proofread this chapter as much as I could so I hope there's no glaring mistakes


	6. Vibration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was probably a better way, but he's never found the ideal path to anything.

He tries to store away the image of Sasuke’s bare arms for safe keeping. They’re defined and scarred and Naruto wants to run his fingertips over the skin there—he finds himself holding his breath until Sasuke snaps his fingers in his face.

“Focus. I’m not here to waste time.”

They’re painting over the walls in Naruto’s living room to the bright orange color that Sasuke’s always claimed to hate since they were kids. The only reason he’s there, according to him, is because Naruto would “paint over the windows and furniture” without surveillance. Naruto had tried to argue that he’s actually an incredibly capable person and (probably) wouldn’t have done such a bad job himself.

What he _should_ have asked was why it was any of Sasuke’s business.

He doesn’t know how long it’s been since the bruises on his stomach and the ache in Sasuke’s nose. Normally, he’d have counted down up to even the hours and felt pathetic about it later. Now he can’t concentrate on anything more than the presence next to him. The words weighing down on his chest that he just can’t bring himself to say quite yet.

Naruto isn’t one to have tact. But even he knows there’s going to be a tension in the air if he just outright tells his best friend that he’s—

Nope. Nope. He’s shaking his head with the effort it takes not to finish the thought.

Because if he does, the words will spill out inevitably.

Sasuke notices his movement and slaps him upside the head, making his face collide with the paint brush in his hand. His left eyebrow is orange now. “What was that for?!”

Sasuke gives him _a look_. Like he’s reprimanding him. “Paint.”

Naruto knows it’s because he was in his head. Sasuke doesn’t like to admit when he’s worried, at least not out loud. This makes Naruto feels unsatisfied. He doesn’t want Sasuke to worry about him.

But that’s kind of a lie, he does want it, he wants Sasuke’s attention and worry, all of his anxiety and neurotic behavior. He wants to be _spoiled_ , but that’s pathetic and he’s shaking his head again. Sasuke nails him in the face with his own brush.

The next time he sees Sasuke is a painful two days later. Even more stinging is that it’s on the street while he’s on the way to the gym. Maybe he’d gotten too used to making plans with Sasuke over text, like normal people do—maybe he’s forgotten what they’re relationship was like _before_ all of the awkwardness of the past month. He struggles to remember what “normal” really is.

Sasuke looks away immediately when he catches Naruto’s gaze, but looks back again after only a breath, as if he’d forgot something. Naruto’s the one that walks up to him, smiling but not really, because he’s tired. Tired of feeling desperate.

“Gym?” Naruto asks, eyeing the bag under Sasuke’s shoulder. He gets a grunt in response, one that seems almost annoyed when Sasuke notices that Naruto has a gym bag with him as well.

Naruto decides that they’re going to go to the gym together, earning an eye roll from Sasuke because he knows he can’t really avoid it when they go to the same gym.

The words are ready to leap off of Naruto’s tongue— _come over today_ —but it screams _clingy_ and _pathetic_ and he needs to get those words out of his mind but to say it would feel like begging, and he’s tired of begging Sasuke for basic things like contact.

So when they both get on their respective treadmills, he says, “My apartment is a mess.”

Sasuke warms up for a few rushed steps before taking a breath and saying, “Your own fault,” and quickly picking up speed, adjusting the settings as need be.

Naruto eyes the numbers on the treadmill beside him, adjusting his own accordingly. He only needs to push a little. “But I really try! My cup of ramen exploded in the microwave today and a bunch of noodles fell out when I opened the door to check.” He talks as if he’s not running, not even the least bit winded. Sasuke breathes only slightly quicker next to him. “I guess I’ll clean that up after this.”

Suddenly, Sasuke jumps up, planting his feet on the sides of the treadmill off of the moving belt. “What?” he asks, voice low and threatening.

He shouldn’t grin. He tries to play it off as an apologetic smile and fails, but Sasuke is already headed in the opposite direction. He follows him to the locker room to gather their stuff. _Maybe_ the ramen didn’t actually explode and he just threw it everywhere, but he’s not counting on Sasuke to write down equations about trajectories and the force of explosive noodles when there’s a mess involved.

Once they leave—Sasuke is grumbling something and glaring at Naruto between intervals—Naruto’s smile slowly fades.

Now. When they get to his apartment. Now, he wants to do it now he wants to say it out loud and there’s fresh sweat coating his skin just from the thought of it.

Sasuke glances at the ceiling and quickly averts his eyes, as if the sight of noodles stuck up there burned his retinas. A stale noodle (or is it something else? It’s been two days, there’s no telling what else Naruto managed to spew up there) flies to the floor just an inch from his face, and it takes all his willpower not to jump back in disgust. He turns to give Naruto a resentful glower.

“Hey, it happens!” Naruto says with a shrug, as if that somehow excuses the fact that he allows billions of harmful bacteria to fester and live on every inch of his belongings. He aliments them, for Christ’s sake. Ramen on the ceiling! This is some kind of dark comedy. Sasuke gives him a shove, sending his back to a wall as he looks for cleaning supplies.

Eventually everything gets clean, but Sasuke has to sacrifice a broom so he can attach multiple sponges to the end of it and thoroughly disinfect the ceiling. He buys Naruto a Swiffer Sweeper later, but he knows even then that _he’s_ going to be the one to make the most use of it.

Naruto asks him to stay at his house for a while after—a request he complies with, despite continual objections.

“Stay in the living room and find something to watch,” Naruto commands, pointing a finger with fake authority at the couch. “I’ve gotta do some stuff.” Sasuke rolls his eyes as the other walks down the hall and disappears into the bathroom. When he hears the sink running, he gives up and finds the remote on the coffee table, sitting down just because there’s no other choice of action available to him.

That’s a bold-faced lie, but he mindlessly flips through the channels anyway. There’s something about being alone in Naruto’s space that unnerves him, but not more than being with the aforementioned in it.

He knows there’s something off about Naruto today. There’s always something off, but this is different. Sasuke’ll smack him if he’s brooding again.

It doesn’t feel like that’s the case, though.

He spends what feels like an eternity spaced out, staring at the TV screen as he clicks buttons almost at random. Consciousness and reality quickly seep in again as footsteps get closer.

“Still haven’t decided? Wait, stop there!” Naruto instructs excitedly. It’s a commercial for the Swiffer Sweeper. Sasuke snorts.

A blond, oafish weight deposits itself next to him. Sasuke almost squirms away when their thighs touch for a moment. The couch isn’t too small, Naruto is always too close.

He feels himself become frantic when the only sound echoing off the walls is from the TV. Why is Naruto quiet? There’s an impending doom and Sasuke knows it. He expects the worse, he expects worse than the worse and his toes curl in his shoes from the sheer nervous energy vibrating in his skin.

Naruto leans forward, rubbing his face in an unreadable gesture and Sasuke can’t help but wonder when the night turned into a series of undecipherable codes. He leans into the arm of the couch and begins to stare at the dust gathering on the coffee table. Why didn’t he dust that off before? He’s bobbing his leg up and down from the added frustration Naruto’s dirty apartment brings him. And those orange walls.

“Why are you being so weird about us right now?”

Naruto’s voice jolts him out of his mental slumber like a cold spear to the face. _He’s_ being weird?

“I can feel you thinking and tapping your fingers like your life depends on it.”

Naruto’s not looking at him. This is both disconcerting and a relief. So is the fact that Sasuke hasn’t spoken a word yet. Who knows what might come out of his mouth.

He sighs and rubs his face some more, and Sasuke can see that his brows are furrowed. He knows he’s in deep shit when Naruto grabs the remote and turns the TV off.

It’s not too late to leave. _Why_ is he glued to his seat?

“So this might not be the best time, but if I don’t say it now I won’t ever say it, so whatever.”

This is it. Sasuke doesn’t know what it is but this is it.

Naruto glances at him, frowning before covering his face. “Don’t look at me right now.”

Sasuke hadn’t realized he’d been staring.

There’s silence for another grueling five seconds before Naruto slaps his own face and breathes in.

“I don’t know how you’re gonna feel about this,” he’s _yelling_ for some reason, and it finally registers that this is probably more painful for him than it is for Sasuke. That only makes matters worse.

“I don’t wanna be friends anymore.” His words sound winded.

When he quickly says “Wait, not like that, ugh,” Sasuke only half hears it. He can feel a thudding in his chest, but his body feels like it’d gone cold. Like there’s no blood pumping through it.

He’s apparently not allowed to recover, because Naruto keeps talking. “I mean, I wanna be something else. Well, okay, I still wanna be friends that’s not it—wow this sounded a lot better in my head. I love you, of course I wanna be friends.” His voice vaguely cuts off at the end there, and he muffles it in his hands.

“Fuck. Okay. Whatever. Fuck. I love you. I love you that’s what I wanted to say. Wow that sounds—I was gonna say it different I didn’t wanna say it like that, that’s too much, what the fuck.”

 He’s stomping and kicking now, groaning and curling in on himself. He hides his head in his lap. “I love you. Not like a friend. Not just like a friend. Shit. You get it.”

Sasuke isn’t ready when Naruto suddenly jumps up, nearly tripping over the coffee table in an attempt to flee. He grabs him by the wrist without thinking, _actually_ sending him tripping over the coffee table.

Light from the hallway brings clarity to Sasuke’s eyes, etching the details back into Naruto’s face.

His red face. His glassy eyes, his helplessly quivering lip, the way he gets caught up in the sudden eye contact and forgets to try to hide his face again or even move away. Sasuke realizes that he’s gotten up too, that he’s standing over him with an iron grip on his wrist.

Even his frantic thoughts have gone silent now.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so it's been like, what, 2 months? sorry lol :/ i've got a job, it sucks but i need it for food to fuel my gay writings. hope you like, i also hope this chapter and all the others seem cohesive!


	7. Bodily

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He's not having fun.

He's only moments away from vomiting. There isn't an inch of his body that isn't twitching, trembling, _shuddering_ under Sasuke's unreadable stare. The fingers gripped around his wrist are so hot they sting but that's probably just the heat from his own body desperately trying to touch his best friend, his best friend, his best friend, _fuck_.

Naruto doesn't want to see his face right now. Not his pinched brows. The way his lips are now a fine line. He doesn't want to show his own face, the inviting mess of vulnerability he knows Sasuke could just pick at if he wanted, but he was never good at hiding. He was always the one seeking.

When Sasuke abruptly lets go of him, the sense of loss is so immediate Naruto covers his wrist with his own hand.

"Get up," he says, looking away and taking a step back. His voice is startling in the quiet room. There's a thin trail of sweat on the side of his face, so maybe the heat wasn't just Naruto's own. It takes a second before he actually complies. 

Sasuke is looking down with a hand to his forehead, as if this is an equation he doesn’t know how to solve.

“What do you mean?” he asks. Calm, collected, and not on the verge of tears like Naruto is. “Since when?”

 The embarrassment is so palpable he can feel his cheeks burning craters into his face. “I dun’no. Just, maybe, for a while, for a while, I don’t know.” His eyes are darting all over Sasuke, too frantic to find a grasping point.

Sasuke covers his mouth. Naruto hates how he doesn’t give anything away, even now. This is weird. This is fucking _weird_ and Naruto wants to leave, but not more than he wants Sasuke’s acceptance. Not reciprocation, he doesn’t have to give any part of himself to him no matter how much Naruto wants it—as long as this isn’t the end.

He hears the footsteps before he realizes Sasuke’s started to walk around him, in the direction of the door. Slowly. Each step feels like a stab to the goddamn knees—knees that are _trembling_ and oh god, he’s not about to fall is he? That would be the icing on the cake. He grabs the side of the couch for balance, looking at nothing, not willing to get in the way of whatever Sasuke’s decision might be.

He just doesn’t want to be left in the dark. Not for long. He’d beg to be spared of the constant doubt.

What he doesn’t expect is the way Sasuke turns around so quick the air moves, stepping in so aggressively Naruto almost braces himself to get punched.

“We’ll talk tomorrow. Don’t do anything stupid. Don’t _think_ anything stupid,” he says, gaze steeled.

And then he walks out the door. Doesn’t close it behind him, but leaves it open enough for Naruto to smell oncoming rain.

* * *

 

_cant go diarrhea_

He copy and pastes the excuse as a response to three different texts. He should be howling in laughter. It’s hilarious. They all text back some variation of “gross”, and he should be clutching his sides at how funny he is.

But instead, he’s sitting at the kitchen table. Staring. At the empty bowl in front of him. He had planned on serving cereal, it was his routine. But the autopilot he’d been relying on crapped out when he realized Sasuke could be calling or texting him at any second it’s noon and all he’s done is pace and feel nauseated there’s never been another moment in his life where he’d felt this insecure and unstable unless it had to do with Sasuke too Sasuke Sasuke Sasuke might leave him.

For good. They’ve never been exclusive in any sense, but Naruto realizes now that he always felt they had been. Not romantically not sexually none of that mattered until now, but actually it _doesn’t_ matter because he doesn’t need that, just needs Sasuke not to leave him. There’s better people out there. Who won’t be as annoying. Who match Sasuke better as a person. And there’s this unbearable urge to repeatedly beat himself when he thinks that, especially when he thinks about how he doesn’t care no one would understand Sasuke like he does care about him like he does and, ugh, his hands haven’t stopped shaking. The night before was sleepless, because he hadn’t tried. It rained on and off and even the thunder—something that usually makes him uneasy—couldn’t make him flinch.

He hasn’t turned the TV on and even his phone is on vibrate, albeit always in his hand, so he won’t miss a thing. He doesn’t trust noise when there’s so much in his head. Bad for the heart.

There’s a knock at the door. A single knock. His pulse jumps violently and he almost misses the knob in his running attempt to open. And even then it takes a second for it to sink in that the face staring at him isn’t Sasuke’s.

The mailman looks concerned. Naruto quietly notes that he hasn’t looked in the mirror for a while and that if he feels sweaty, he probably looks it. He’s handed a package and made to sign something. He vaguely remembers ordering something online a while ago, but isnt excited and the mailman eventually leaves, a bit bewildered. He steps back inside and tosses the package on the couch, only to have it slide off and land on the floor. His thick skin feels paper thin.

* * *

 

It’s the glare of a streetlight outside that wakes him up. At first, it’s a pleasant feeling. Warm. A good dream. His body feels rested, and something smells good. It isn’t until the strangling sensation in his chest becomes apparent that he jolts up, because he knows what Sasuke’s clothes smell like and the scent is too close to be his imagination, that grey sweater _isn’t_ his imagination but he touches it to make sure and when he runs to the light in the kitchen he isn’t sure his feet touched the floor once.

He’s still adjusting to the brightness but he recognizes the silhouette and how, _how_ does it feel like it’s been years, how does Sasuke do that to him?

It’s so silent for a moment, he’s not even breathing. What breaks it is the sound of water being poured into a cup.

“You have a fever.” He’s mixing in half a tablespoon of sugar. Still too bitter. Despite the shock, Naruto frowns at the unpleasant yellow color of the tea he’s handed. But Sasuke knows best. “Drink it.”

Sasuke hasn’t actually turned to look at him once. This is only fuel for paranoia. Is he preparing himself? Is this the last they’ll see of each other? Naruto briefly wonders if this is the ideal parting for him. If anything, he’d have preferred it for Sasuke to curse him out and call him disgusting. Not this comforting, bitter tea to calm the fever he didn’t know he had. Not the way Sasuke doesn’t sound the least bit angry, not even a little repulsed. He drinks the tea and burns his tongue.

“I put some ibuprofen on the table.”

Naruto thinks he says thank you, but his throat won’t allow words to pass through.

When Sasuke turns around, he almost drops the cup. Not entirely out of shock, he just hasn’t eaten anything in—he glances at the clock—over a day. He doesn’t usually make a habit of that.

“There’s soup on the stove, eat it too.”

There’s a heated pink feeling in his body, and he wants to be so close to Sasuke skin-to-skin right now to feel him entirely the urge is so sudden he almost cries. Or he does. No, he does, damn it, he doesn’t even look away when he wipes at a tear. He’s not that smart right now.

They move to the living room. Or, Sasuke moves, Naruto follows like a puppy with soup in hand. Sasuke forces him to sit down.

He sips on the soup and lets it fool him into thinking things are gonna be okay. There’s an unexpected hand touching his forehead now, and Sasuke isn’t frowning but he definitely sighed.

“Are you sure yesterday wasn’t just because of the fever?”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> didnt proofread! also sorry about this lol


	8. Tactile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No going back.

He refused, in part unconsciously, to look at him for a while. This wasn’t the first thing he thought would have been a problem when he unlocked the door with the seldom-used spare key he’d been given. Even when Naruto had been asleep on the couch, Sasuke refused to look at his closed eyelids, the way his mouth always opens partway to let drool drip out. Gross. Gross like how the whole situation makes him feel.

It was only because his hands—he didn’t do it on purpose—brushed up against a hot cheek (too hot, sweat forming on a lightly-illuminated forehead) that he’d decided to take a trip to the pharmacy a few blocks away. He’d known there was something off yesterday, besides the obvious. He’d tried to convince himself that this urgency was some kind of misplaced parental instinct—he’d always taken care of Naruto in times like this, when the other thought he was immune to even the common cold—but none of his old mental tricks were working. He’d made the soup and gave up on fooling himself.

When he did eventually turn around to face the problem embodied in brown skin and blond hair, he didn’t expect anything he was presented with. The bright kitchen light revealed a dark tint under his eyes, an unnatural kind of bedhead that was out of place even on Naruto’s hair. The wide eyes, teary shocked doting needy _loving_ and oh—that wasn’t a good thing to think about just then. He moves on from this as smoothly as his crooked, pulsating headache will allow. The way Naruto shuffles behind him makes him wish he’d waited an extra day to come by, to sort his head out because this is still not an idea he’s used to, of course not, not even something he’s prepared to word in his head without feeling like he’s been caught in some TV show prank. He finds himself almost searching for a camera to stare into resentfully.

Another thing he doesn’t expect is the empty look he’s given when he says it—almost joking, but sincerely wishing that this was all a fever dream. On at least one of their parts.

“Hm?” Naruto narrows his eyes, so slightly, not enough to look upset just yet.

Sasuke can sense the danger. This is why he should have waited another day. Or he should have at least left the medicine and soup and went home before Naruto had woken up. Because of course he’d fuck this up. He still can’t believe there’s something _to_ fuck up, but if it’s him and Naruto of course there is. “Forget it.” He removes his hand from the forehead it’d found its perch on, palm quickly becoming cold.

“No,” is the only response he gets before realizing he’s truly in some deep shit now. The single word is said in a low, heated voice. He can hear Naruto almost taunting him for thinking he’d let it go. Or maybe he’s taunting himself. Damn it. Now what? Why should he feel guilty already? He didn’t even do anything. Naruto is a grown man, a few words shouldn’t have any such effect. A few words. Sasuke wants to roll his eyes at his own hypocrisy. A few words are everything. He’s supposed to be the one who thinks before he speaks.

“No it wasn’t the fever. No. You don’t even understand.” He’s laughing and it’s cold, startling, it’s been a while since Sasuke heard that sound. The last time, it was accompanied with a fist. He braces his gut.

Naruto drops the soup on the floor and curls up on himself instead.

“Weeks. I wanted to punch myself in the face for weeks because I didn’t even understand it myself. And when I finally realized how I felt, I didn’t think telling you was a real option. I knew I had to, I had to do it, but when I actually did I was like _fuck_ this isn’t happening,” he rubs his face hard enough to make it red, “the most important person in my life is gonna tell me to go fuck myself and I’m gonna lose a lifelong friendship, one I worked so hard to keep, you know how hard, don’t you? And when you walked out I could still feel your hand on my wrist and I thought I couldn’t expect anything, you didn’t have to _propose_ to me but if you could just fucking tell me _it’s okay_ , to feel like this, to want you and dream about you, because I do I do, I just—“ he stops for a moment. It’s frightening. “For you to not even take me seriously… as if it hadn’t taken _everything_ for me to say it, and I’m afraid to say it again,” he’s hiccupping, “But I love you, I still love you, I know you feel weird about that word, I know, I’m sorry, but I love, I love you.”

He hates himself. For doing this. For doing this every time. For reducing him to this, every time. Because there’s always some part of him that refuses to acknowledge that someone could care about him to this extent. He hates himself for not knowing what to do when faced with this unpleasant image. Naruto crying, Naruto hurt, Naruto scared: all are images of loss that he doesn’t want to look at but can’t ignore.

Then it gradually stops. He’s sniffling, but he’s raising his head, and now _Sasuke’s_ the one who’s scared.

And it’s so sudden. The color drains from Naruto’s face. “Oh no. Oh no, no no, don’t,” he says quietly, hands around Sasuke’s shoulders dragging him down making his knees give out and something, _something_ is unraveling. Maybe it’s all of him. He doesn’t want to know what Naruto saw just then. His back his being rubbed and his cheek is pressed so close to Naruto’s wet one, he can feel lips against his ear whispering words of comfort, safety and security. His hands are still clenched fists until Naruto grabs one, coerces it open and traces circle on Sasuke’s palm.

This is what’s at stake.

He wonders why everything is always a battle between them. Then he remembers what kind of people they are. He remembers what kind of person _he_ is.

But this, this is different. Almost tender. He’s staring at the ceiling, lying on Naruto’s bed with the latter curled next to him, fiddling with Sasuke’s fingers, sometimes rubbing his thumb along his wrist. The contact gives him goosebumps but he’s not ready to explore what that means. For now, it’s only the comfort of knowing things aren’t totally broken. He avoided it. Not thanks to himself.

It’s silent. Naruto had dragged him to his bedroom—almost literally—all while holding Sasuke against him like his life depended on it. Not that Sasuke had resisted in any way shape or form. He let it happen. Because he needed it. He needed every part of this intimate, quiet exchange.

He’s the first to say something, for once.

“I don’t mind it.”

And he doesn’t.

Naruto doesn’t answer with words. He leans in closer. Sasuke can feel his breath on his arm. Can feel his lips again.

Goosebumps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wrote this sooo quick.


	9. Simmer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now there's REALLY no going back.

Sometimes, things don’t feel like they’ve changed at all. Naruto looks up from his plants at the window to see Sasuke throwing something of his in the giant trash bag he’s been lugging around the apartment, and nearly throws his favorite cactus at him.

“Hey, I loved that sweater, dickhead!”

“You loved it so much it went from white to yellow. Keep that, and we won’t even be acquaintances.”

He’s stubborn. Rude. Bent on getting his way. Like Naruto, but with more control and less flare. This is normal.

“Then I’ll gladly keep it,” Naruto grins. “Now who is this stranger in my house? Have we met before? How did you get in here?”

Sasuke moves closer, dropping the trash bag. Slow step after slow step. He tilts his head slightly and crosses his arms. It’s not the same arrogant curve of the lips he usually wears. There’s something much more sinister about it. And it does things to Naruto.

“You sure about that?” he asks, cocky but so smooth Naruto doesn’t even get mad, doesn’t even sputter, just forgets to breathe.

Sometimes, things are normal; “sometimes” being the key word. You might even substitute it with “rarely”.

“Whatever,” Naruto says weakly, breathless. He hears Sasuke chuckle so lightly behind him and he thinks about throwing himself out the window. He’s miserable, in what might be the most desired way possible.

Who would have thought Sasuke would be the type to take advantage?

“I’m not going through your underwear drawer with my own two hands. Come here.”

It takes Naruto a second to obey—and he does obey, because his brain isn’t working quite right and Sasuke is fully aware of that. He squats down in front of the drawer and pulls it open, sifting through it.

“Anything with a hole in it. Anything that isn’t its original color. Might as well throw out all of it, huh?” he snorts.

“Hey, they’re not that bad. They have character. Been with me through thick and thin.”

“Underwear shouldn’t have character. What do you even do with these?”

“I wear them, duh,” Naruto rolls his eyes.

He hears a scoff. “And what’s your _junk_ doing while you wear them?”

Huh. That’s kind of a weird question. “What?”

There’s a pause. He continues to pull out the most unusable briefs and boxers he has, without looking up at Sasuke’s face.

Then, something starts to bug him.

“Wait, why are we going through my _underwear_ drawer?” There are certain things even Sasuke never deigned to touch upon. Naruto suddenly feels embarrassed, or shy, or some other vulnerable feeling he hates.

When he finally raises his head to demand an answer, Sasuke is looking away, off to the side. He looks annoyed. After a second, he walks toward the closet, opens it and throws a random ( _clean,_ practically _new_ ) sweater in the trash. Naruto is about to object when Sasuke suddenly heads toward the door, leaving the trash bag in his spot. “Finish it yourself, I’ve got stuff to do.”

* * *

 

Unsurprisingly, Naruto never finishes the task Sasuke set him up to do. Everything in the room is exactly the same way it was when Sasuke was last there.

Naruto doesn’t know why he’s felt much tenser about seeing Sasuke than usual. It’s something besides the nervous anticipation that has become commonplace now. He’ll still abandon any other plans if Sasuke is free, he’ll still come running if Sasuke beckons. He never beckons, but that’s not the point.

There’s just some other anxiety creeping up on him, nameless, making him all the more confused.

Maybe it has something to do with the fact that Sasuke might be acting weird lately.

He’s lying on his bed with the amber of the sunset painting his body and room. Wearing a new pair of boxers, because he’s been surprisingly self-conscious about that since last time. Not wearing anything else, though. August might be ending but it’s still hot as hell during the day, and the warm breeze from the window feels good against the skin he normally covers up. He chooses a song to play on his Bluetooth speakers at full volume and closes his eyes.

All he can do is think. That’s all he does lately. No wonder his head hurts, he should be out hanging with friends and having fun, not struggling with trying to unlock Sasuke’s thoughts like it’s a puzzle with an attainable answer. Only one person can gift him with that, and Naruto knows he never will. So he thinks himself in circles.

There’s a door creaking open outside of his room. He folds his hands behind his head, completely unaware of the new presence in his apartment. Thinking of Sasuke. Picturing Sasuke. Wanting to melt away the constant anxiety.

His fingers find themselves caressing a slow path down his abdomen. They stop at the hem of his boxers, thumbing the last stretch of skin before the barrier. He licks his lips, waves of heat already crashing over him. This is the only time he’ll thank god for his overactive imagination. The temperature of the air around him doesn’t delay in rising.

A thumb slips under the material shielding him. He pulls it back ever so slightly, the air feeling cold on the heat between his legs. He tries to control his breathing, leaning his head back as he uncovers himself almost fully. The boxers sit mid-thigh, giving his hands enough space to pretend that they aren’t _his_ hands.

When his index finger (not his, but _his_ ) begins to trail a soft path along the hardness it finds, his toes curl. This is all he needs. Somehow, this is _all_ he needs to almost come. He licks his lips again. Shit, he didn’t bring tissues. Fuck. Does he care at this point? Two fingers stop at the tip, then press down on it, something sticky and wet coating them. He can’t hear himself groan through the music. Hopefully no one else can either. All he can see is Sasuke. Sasuke kneeling between his legs, laughing the quiet, deep way he does when he’s making fun of Naruto. Being made fun of shouldn’t turn Naruto on. But this is enough. Sasuke moves his mouth closer to its target, not even touching it, just letting out a breath and he almost _really_ felt that, his body is twitching and he doesn’t think he can amp it up any further, doesn’t think he’s ready.

But he does it anyway. And Sasuke’s tongue is dangerous. And Sasuke’s mouth is dangerous. He can feel teeth, he knows Sasuke would use teeth, just enough to make him shudder. Teeth. Tongue. Lips. He presses his lips against it, _kisses_ it, and Naruto can almost hear the sound.

Everything is moving so slowly, but it’s still too fast. Sasuke’s looking at him. His eyes are almost worse than his mouth. Fuck. How can he look at him when he’s doing that with his _tongue_? Naruto almost wants to avoid eye contact he feels so vulnerable. But it’s a good vulnerability.

“Like that,” he whispers, and even if he can’t hear his own voice Sasuke does, Sasuke knows what he wants, and it’s that damn _mouth_ again, how does he do that?

He has to squeeze his eyes shut, grab onto the sheets with white knuckles because it’s happening, his blood is boiling in such a good way, and _fuck_ , right there, right there, he’s almost there, _fuck—_

In a strangled gasp, he arches his back off the bed and reaches the peak so hard he bites his arm.

The moment his body starts to relax again, he’s too dazed to think about how he probably made a mess. How he’s gotta clean it up before Sasuke comes over again and looks at him with questions. Sasuke. No. It’s too soon to start thinking about him again, he needs ten minutes at the least. Everything is too sensitive.

There’s a stutter in the music. He never knows if it’s his shitty speakers or his shitty phone that’s the problem.

Neither of them are the problem right now, though, because in the few seconds of silence they created he hears a door slam.

He jolts up from the bed, pulling up his boxers as the shock sinks in.

_Fuck._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oops


	10. Boil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not a second of rest between them.

Nothing. Not a word was floating around in his head. Where there was normally a white noise of checklists and reminders, questions and possible answers, there was an empty room. Not even an echo.

Sasuke walks a little faster than he usually does down the emergency staircase from the seventh floor. His body doesn’t remember that he usually waits for the elevator. He isn’t necessarily frantic, but the silent instinct to stay in motion, to make distance, is persistent.

He bumps shoulders with someone on his way out of the building. The person might be yelling something out, but he’s already a block away.

_Step step step step._ His ears start to ring.

A familiar sound begins to bleed through. Someone is humming a song.

Something like unadulterated panic starts to seep in.

Then he runs.

* * *

 

Naruto’s staring at the space in the distance, past the door to his room and to the entrance to his apartment.

He’s almost positive this is a dream. He’s so sure he’s only half asleep, because that happens sometimes, doesn’t it? One time he dreamt he won a Ferrari on a game show and when he woke up he reached out to his nightstand to look for the keys. It was a shock when he realized he’d just been sleeping, but reality is a good thing to be grounded to. So that’s what he needed right now. Some reality.

He clenches and unclenches his hands into fists, feeling something wet on his fingers. He looks down to the trail of reality on his navel and jumps up.

“Shit.”

He hides his face in his hands, already forgetting about the mess on his palm and pulling it away quickly when he feels it.

“Fuck. Fuck. Shit.”

The gravity of the situation is too heavy for him to accept all at once. His thoughts won’t even tell him exactly what happened yet, but he knows it’s bad, he knows he should have locked his door at _least_ , he can see a notification light blinking on his phone and it might be a message from Sasuke, from two hours ago, it is, oh god whose fault is this? It’s his fault, so obviously his fault and what was he thinking? Why did he think trying to break his constant anxiety would be a good idea? By doing _that_ nonetheless? Why would he pause in his latest routine of checking his phone for messages from Sasuke just to-

And Sasuke saw? Sasuke saw.

Sasuke saw.

He feels dizzy on his feet, anger and guilt coursing through him in waves. He smashes a fist against the wall next to him, not ready find a solution that probably doesn’t exist.

* * *

 

Going back to his own place might have been a mistake, but Sasuke only realizes that a handful of hours into pacing marks into the flooring and thinking his mind into a malfunctioning state. He’s gone from _it was probably a hallucination_ to _I can never look him or anyone in the eye again_ so many times he hasn’t even noticed he’s bitten all his nails down to sore stubs.

Because this isn’t something he can scoff at.

There’s no humor in the image seared behind his eyelids.

He knows this isn’t the first time. It happened once when they were kids. An overnight school trip. He’d walked in on Naruto in the bathroom at 2AM with his hands down his pants. They were twelve.

Then, and even the memory of it now, it was too comical to be any kind of scary scar in their history. They’d made eye contact for a few awkward seconds before Naruto realized what was happening and slammed the door, red-faced. He was yelling about god-knows-what and woke their entire class, including the faculty. Sasuke went along with his lie that they were just having an argument, even if it meant him being reprimanded alongside him without actually being the one to blame.

He’d never told anyone because back then, it was more rewarding to use it as a personal weapon against Naruto. A little blackmail here and there. He held onto that even through their early years of high school, because Naruto’s ego was still sore about it.

But this. This is worlds apart.

This is _adult._ This is _he’s in love with me_. This is _what was he thinking about?_

This is _shut the fuck up no one asked that_.

What makes his skin itch the most is that he’s almost certainly blowing this all out of proportion. He ran home and arrived practically with asthma. It’s not that deep. Naruto’s grown, obviously what he does is his own business.

But, see, Sasuke had _texted_ him before going over. Before using that damn spare key. All he was going to do was pick up something he thought he might have left behind.

He doesn’t actually know what that something is, maybe it was his sanity.

He was (making a show of) searching every inch of the apartment that wasn’t Naruto’s room, just to get it out of the way. He could hear the music from even outside, so Naruto didn’t know he’d arrived. He was going to walk into his room and unplug the stereo to annoy him, that was the plan. He hadn’t had the tiniest inkling of a clue as to why he felt nervous walking down the small hall to the bedroom.

And the image wasn’t clear at first. It was like taking various pieces of a puzzle and throwing them on the floor—he felt like he had to arrange them first before he understood what was happening.

But it only took a few seconds. And he didn’t need to step into the room to do it.

He did anyway. Stopped just short of the dresser.

That’s as far as he made it before all his internal organs came _this_ close to failing. At least, that’s what it felt like. He couldn’t take his eyes away, couldn’t even blink, it _burned_.

But it was… a soft image.

The blaring music was being drowned out by the quiet sounds Naruto looked like he was making. Sasuke couldn’t hear them, but he could feel them. Naruto’s hands weren’t moving frantically or hardly at all—he just touched, so lightly, like the contact was electricity that forced his back to curve off the bed. He kept licked and biting his lips and he wouldn’t open his eyes no matter what.

He was saying something. Sasuke could see the familiar mouthing of syllables. So familiar.

A name.

Then the thudding in his chest extended beyond his body—it felt like it reverberated against the walls.

His name.

* * *

 

The shower he forced himself to take was seething hot and unpleasant, just like the red, burning paths of skin along his stomach and hands. He had to scrub it away, hoping the guilt would be clean gone too but of course it wasn’t. He was stumbling all over his house trying to get clothes on, knowing he had to leave and do _something_ before he could do _nothing_.

His eyes land on an opened box on the floor—the package he’d gotten a few days ago. A picture frame.

He and Sasuke had a conversation once about the importance of preserving important photos. It was a subtle exchange of words. Naruto asked him if he remembered the 20-year-old picture frame housing the last photo he has of him and his parents. Sasuke had said of course, he sees it every time he’s over. It’s like the one he has of him and his own folks. It brought out a longing in Naruto to document his life and the people in it better, to take more tangible pictures and put them up as a reminder of everything he loved. Every _one_ he loved.

He especially wanted a current picture of him and Sasuke.

An impulse-buy, mostly. But it didn’t hold any less significance.

Naruto stops in the middle of tying his shoes to realize that there’s no need for him to be hasty and scared.

Too many times he tortures himself over the small things. He’d thought constantly about how much smoother his confession to Sasuke would have gone if he’d just said x and y, but in the end it wouldn’t have changed anything. He got a better outcome than he’d expected. All he needed was Sasuke not to push him away.

And Sasuke won’t push him away now.

God, how stupid is he? Didn’t this happen when they were like, twelve? Granted, it was mortifying for a different reason back then. But he wouldn’t be surprised if Sasuke just laughed it off.

Although, maybe that might be painful in a different way.

* * *

 

Maybe he would have laughed it off if the problem hadn’t been rooted before the triggering event.

AKA, Sasuke was feeling a little odd around Naruto before he caught him _masturbating_ , and having done so only exasperated an existing issue.

He wasn’t about to explore what the “odd” feeling was, especially since he feels forced into doing it so much more now. It was in his nature to reject what didn’t match up with his reality, what he wanted his reality to be. He was stubborn in a way Naruto never was—he could be cruel if it meant shielding his emotional stability. He’ll say hurtful things, he’ll make others feel bad.

Although maybe that wasn’t the best solution, considering how it made him feel after. Kind of counterproductive.

And he was getting tired of running around in circles when it came to Naruto. Denial of the other’s feelings for the sake of protecting his own comfortable balance. Not just a few days ago, but constantly, for years until _it_ happened. _It_ being the most terrifying, dark place he’d ever been in. _It_ being the perpetual threat of losing that one thing he had left that mattered to him because he just couldn’t get his shit together.

And who had pulled him out of that?

Sasuke scoffs at the question, not even needing to answer it as the image of Naruto’s bloody, bruised face comes to mind.

There’s a lot of things he knew he regretted, just off the top of his head. Naruto isn’t one of them.

Now he feels ridiculous.

* * *

 

This time, it’s been hours and he still hasn’t contacted Sasuke, or even tried to see him. It doesn’t bother Naruto this time.

The only reason he even knows Sasuke’s the one who saw is because he’s the only other person with a key. Naruto had meant to give Sakura one, but it kept slipping his mind. His priorities were always in one place.

They still are.

Where he would have ran out of his house to apologize (for what? He’s always apologizing), he just sits in front of the TV instead, tapping his fingers in a slow, steady pace. Waiting.

He just needs Sasuke to let him know things are alright without being the first to speak, for once. And things’ll be alright, he knows it so deeply. But he can’t freak out again. He has to breathe.

He can’t keep crawling behind Sasuke like his pet every time there’s a slight hiccup, and even when there _isn’t_.

He bites his lip hard enough to hurt.

Sasuke is always worth the misery.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> once again i barely proofread. its 1:30AM and ive gotta get up at 5 for work.
> 
> I dont wanna give anything away but i plan to make the majority of the chapters from here on out a little more...enjoyable


	11. Serve

There’s the afterimage of a blank text box every time he blinks. Every time he looks from his phone to the ceiling and back again, he’s reminded of just how weak he really is. It’s frustrating in ways his ego can’t handle. He feels like he’s lost. To Naruto. Again. He’s always losing somehow, even when it’s not a battle—there is no _loss_ here but the more time ticks away the guiltier and more apprehensive he becomes.

He’s left the house a total of one time in the past three days. To shop for groceries, as his emptying fridge demanded. He doesn’t really remember what he bought but he does see the low battery notification on the screen he’s been staring at for what feels like hours, so he reaches for the cord to charge it. It’s been that same cycle for each grueling day. His phone _never_ reaches below seventy percent—he just doesn’t use it that much. But the screen’s been on so often lately, it’s throwing a wrench in his balance.

He could just do it. Just text Naruto. Nothing has changed, in all actuality. Naruto doesn’t even know about what happened anyway, right? (Then why hasn’t he so much as sent Sasuke a _sup_ for seventy two goddamn hours?)

It doesn’t matter. The mechanisms in his brain are whirring and overheating. He needs to move past this, or he’s going to suffocate. It doesn’t matter what it is, he just needs to say something. It doesn’t matter that he’s going to say it first. It doesn’t matter that he has no idea what Naruto has been doing for three days, what he’s thinking and whether or not he’s thought about Sasuke at all. Anything. Call him an idiot. Tell him he needs to return the book he borrowed months ago because surely he hasn’t even touched it, because Sasuke knows that was just an excuse to see him, Naruto is all too transparent, and he needs to say anything, anything before saying nothing.

Anything but more nothing.

He presses a random letter. Another. Another, until there’s a word.

_You_

A decent start. He keeps typing. It’s starting to look like a complete thought, almost.

_You are_

Okay, an adjective would go good here. His keyboard suggests the word “dumb”, and he almost clicks it. But then he doesn’t. Doesn’t feel right for once.

_You are in_

_You are in love_

_You are in love with me_

He sends it.

Wait a second. He sent it.

He _sent_ it.

What the ever-living _fuck_ is wrong with him?

What is he trying to do? When must he have betrayed his fingers so horribly as to deserve this? This complete and utter lack of consideration for his mental and physical health? Because he’s positive he’s currently having a heart attack. Right now, in his chest, is a heart just about ready to explode. His hands are shaking and sweating around the phone and he squeezes his eyes shut. There’s a difference between making a mistake and throwing yourself into a hole lined with spikes at the bottom.

When he opens his eyes again, all he sees is a horror show. There’s a read receipt on the message. That’s it.

He can now officially say that any smart, clever, or even mildly intelligent thing he’s done thus far has been a fluke. In reality, his brain is a potato, firing out orders randomly to the rest of his body. He’s a sham. He weakly flings the phone across the room.

It vibrates against the floor (he spent fifty dollars on that solid metal phone case), and he immediately falls off the bed in an attempt to grab it again.

He unlocks the phone and covers his eyes before he can read the reply. It’s now or never but he’s pushing it as much as he can into _later_ , because this is the most terrifying experience he’s ever had alone in his room with only his cellphone as company.

He peeks through the gaps in his fingers.

_yeah_

He, really, truly, honest to god, doesn’t expect it when warm relief expands in his chest. He doesn’t know what it means, or what’s happening to him, but a single word has never lifted a burden off him so instantaneously.

Determination bleeds through his anxiety. This is an incentive not to wuss out or give a damn about his pride. He knows this instinctively, but he still isn’t sure what his pride is shielding from him.

He thinks he knows. He thinks it’s because love has always been a sensitive concept for him. He’s loved his mother, father, and brother. He still does, even if the option to call them up and say it is gone forever now. He still says it when he visits the tombs that have taken their physical place. Naruto has seen it and heard it.

And he knows what he feels for Naruto, even if every time he tries to form the thought, there’s always a single word he can’t quite reach. It’s instinct that keeps him from it. Fear, the same way a dog might fear their own shadow if it’s bigger than they are.

But he still knows what the feeling is. He knows. They’ve been friends for their whole lives, so he knows.

But there’s nothing more to it.

His phone buzzes again, and he jumps slightly. He’s been lying on the floor in a stupor, clutching it.

_I love you_

He doesn’t know.

Oh, he really does not know at all. He can sense his feelings for Naruto expand—or maybe they’ve always been that expansive but he’s only now perceiving it. Where there was a period (a simple stop, an end) to what their relationship was in his mind, there’s a comma. There’s a space, and he can’t quite see the rest, but he knows it extends to paragraphs and pages and books and volumes. And it’s probably always been that way, but the amount of space it all takes up is scary. He can’t bring himself to read the text just yet, even if his brain is finally offering it to him on a silver platter. But he knows at least what the first sentence says.

* * *

 

His initial reactions were shock, anger, and relief. In that order. He’s kept himself as busy as he could the past three days, harassing his (other) friends to hang out and even going as far as keeping his house in order. He's washing dishes of all things when a familiar sound rings in his back pocket. A very specific, intentionally chosen sound. He drops a glass plate to the ground and it shatters at his feet, but he doesn’t notice as he clumsily reaches for his phone.

_You are in love with me_

The words almost don’t make sense the first few times he reads them. At first, he’s still too surprised that Sasuke even texted him. _First_. It was like dividing by zero. And then Naruto slowly realizes he has the ability to decipher language, as a human being with fully-developed (he likes to think) mental faculties.

And then, he feels annoyed. Three days. Three days, and Sasuke was probably thinking about himself the entire time, he realizes. Sasuke tends to do that. He makes everything about himself, in some way or another. It’s not a matter of being conceited, Naruto knows—it’s Sasuke’s survival instinct. “How does this affect me: negatively, or positively?” and so forth.

But still. He could have said hey, or asked how Naruto was doing. But that’s beyond wishful thinking, a dream beyond a dream.

At least he texted at all.

Naruto realizes quickly that Sasuke needs something from him. He doesn’t know what. But the truth has a pretty good success rate. So he confirms the question-reworded-as-a-statement.

He can feel Sasuke’s presence on the other end, somehow. He wants to go over to his apartment. Wants to hug him. Press his lips to-

_I love you_

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. One step at a time.

He steps over the broken shards of glass on the floor, seeking out the chair at his kitchen table. He needs something steady. Whenever there’s a wall between him and Sasuke, he usually scales it or breaks it down by force. Doing _neither_ has had him on his toes for the past few days, because he’s constantly been walking a thin line between _this is necessary_ and _I’m making a mistake_. Patience is his least-practiced virtue.

It’s worth it.

He’s startled again by a ringtone playing on a loop. Again, it’s familiar.

A phone call. Sasuke. Sasuke is calling him.

_Sasuke is CALLING him._

He almost hangs up in an attempt to answer, pressing the phone to his ear with an iron grip. He forgets to actually say anything in his excitement.

“I think,” Sasuke begins, and his voice sends shuddering waves down Naruto’s back even over the spotty connection. “I love you.”

Naruto promptly presses the red button on his screen, cutting the call off.

The phone drops onto the table. He swallows saliva, chokes on it, has a coughing fit until the table is almost knocked over, but it’s not a coughing fit he actually just can’t _breathe_ , great. This is it, this is how he dies. Sasuke finally killed him.

He’s not even upset.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> did it seem too sudden? once again, i JUST finished writing this as i'm posting it. it's also a second draft of sorts, so i hope it's satisfactory. i'm very eager to get onto more entertaining things, although believe me these internal monologues are plenty fun.


End file.
